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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24755215">about trust</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yakyuu_yarou/pseuds/yakyuu_yarou'>yakyuu_yarou</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BDSM, Canon Asexual Character, Clothed Male Naked Male, Dom!Zolf, M/M, No Sex, Rope Bondage, Sub!Wilde, Subspace, non-sexual bdsm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:48:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,280</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24755215</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yakyuu_yarou/pseuds/yakyuu_yarou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Oscar had a hard time finding true stillness. Zolf helped.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>about trust</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExLibrisCraux/gifts">ExLibrisCraux</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Sometimes, your friend asks you to write something that is <em>precisely</em> in your wheelhouse on purpose, and you say "ooooh yes" — and then you wait and write it for their birthday.<br/>You're such a wonderful friend to have and I feel so, so honoured to be yours as well 💙</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Around Oscar, the room was silent. It had been for a while, though he couldn‘t say precisely for how long; it didn‘t matter anyway, not to him, not now.</p><p>Part of him kept urging him to open his eyes, to <em> check</em>, to make sure he‘d not been left and betrayed — but that was precisely the point. This was about trust; <em> his </em> trust, in Zolf. And he <em> did </em> trust him, they both knew that, trusted him with his life and (far more importantly) the world. The only thing he was still keeping to himself was his heart, but then Zolf had never asked for it and wasn’t at all likely to.</p><p>This was better anyway.</p><p>Just when Oscar was about to shift — not as a test of his bonds or Zolf’s authority, just as a slight backwards adjustment of his weight, to take a bit of strain off his knees — there was a soft sound from somewhere to the right of him: a gentle, unobtrusive rustling of fabric that only mattered at all because aside from it, the room was entirely silent. (Oscar had learned very early on in his career how to breathe without making any sound, but he’d been surprised to find out that Zolf, too, had acquired that skill. “Pirates,” was all he’d offered when Oscar had very pointedly not asked about it.)</p><p>Oscar managed to resist the temptation to turn his head toward the sound, but he <em> did </em> cock it to the side incrementally, an acknowledgement: he’d heard, and he knew he was meant to.</p><p>A moment later, Zolf’s breaths became audible and Oscar almost smiled at the deliberate sign. Almost, because for the most part he was finding himself … shocked. While he’d been getting lost in his thoughts, distracted by the (clearly, now, intentional) lack of subtlety in Zolf’s actions, his slightly too-quick breathing had <em> slowed </em> — to match Zolf’s, steady and settling.</p><p>If this had been about anything other than trust, with anyone other than Zolf, Oscar knew it wouldn’t have worked, much less lasted past the moment he’d become aware of it. But it was, and Oscar could feel his heartbeat slow as well, could tell that his pulse was settling, soothed by the knowledge that Zolf was nearby, was paying attention.</p><p><em> “Good,” </em> Zolf said, his voice caught in suspension somewhere between a purr and a growl, and it was enough to make Oscar shiver against the (breathtakingly pretty and comfortingly tight) cage of the ropes.</p><p>He could feel each and every one of them where they rested snug against his exposed skin now, as if the moment Zolf had announced his presence, a part of his awareness had been freed up, opened up to focus on other things instead.</p><p>Oscar was suddenly, startlingly conscious of the difference in temperature between the comfortably warm room (Zolf’s, at his insistence. “No, Wilde, we’re not doin’ that in your office. The idea is to make you <em> relax</em>, not t’make you think of work while you’re naked.”) and his own skin, which seemed cooler than it should.</p><p>The ropes were snaking lines of solidity around his body that gently but inexorably called attention to his legs, bound together underneath him, then to his arms bound behind his back (in pretty braids all the way up each arm and between them, the pattern much more delicately detailed than Oscar had expected at the start of this), and lastly to the much simpler-looking diamond harness on his torso that he knew Zolf had <em> somehow </em> learned after their arrival in Japan (he should probably have been able to recall its name, but for the moment, his memory seemed to be failing him. He found it hard to mind).</p><p>With all of his focus directed inward this way, Oscar had missed Zolf coming around him — and closer: he could smell him (saltwater even after several days spent indoors, the too-bitter tea he’d grown so fond of during their time at the inn (Oscar had tried to teach him how to brew it properly, but Zolf seemed incapable of improving and Oscar strongly suspected that he just <em> liked </em> it oversteeped), and, faintly, his beard oil), and that, as it turned out, was enough for the impulse to open one eye and glance at him to dissipate before it really had a chance to take root.</p><p>This time, he heard the faintly pleased smile in Zolf’s voice when he murmured more short praise that warmed Oscar from the inside, and he made no attempt at holding back the soft, soothed hum that tried to escape at the not entirely gentle but very careful curling of Zolf’s strong fingers in his too-short hair.</p><p>“That’s it,” Zolf encouraged him, and Oscar easily tipped back his head to follow the backwards tug of his hand. “Stay like that,” he instructed, though he neither let go nor loosened the pressure of his hold. Oscar knew he could have commented; he’d not been told not to talk (back) or to stay silent, but he … felt no <em> need </em> to. He knew Zolf understood the tiny smile that played at the unscarred corner of his mouth, though for a while he said nothing more, just <em> held </em> Oscar — in place, in his hand, in thoughtless, unencumbered silence.</p><p>Stillness tended to not come easily to Oscar (not <em> true </em> stillness, at least, the kind that affected both his body and his mind), but he found it like this, bound and caught and kept safe, heartbeat slow and breathing slower still, surrounded by Zolf’s scent and warmth and secured by his work and his word and his hand.</p><p>He knew that there were problems waiting for them both outside the room, problems that were possibly unsolvable, but for the moment, none of them mattered.</p><p>Eventually, Zolf’s fist holding him still turned into broad fingers idly combing through his hair the way he’d sometimes imagined they might in the early days of their acquaintance. It seemed impossible, sometimes, that he should get to have it now. It wasn’t quite <em> novel </em> anymore, but it was still enough to make him shiver gently and hum his contentment at Zolf, who kept up the motions until they turned into a pattern that Oscar very gradually focussed on. Zolf could evidently tell because his fingers slowed, then finally stilled and turned into a palm resting heavy and solid against the back of his head.</p><p>“All right?” he asked, and his voice was both softer and rougher than Oscar had ever heard it.</p><p>He decided he quite liked it.</p><p>Oscar nodded, and then smiled against the lips that met his almost immediately. (They had negotiated this, quite carefully, both of them insistent on knowing each other’s boundaries. Kissing, it turned out, had been a very enthusiastic mutual <em> yes</em>.)</p><p>The kiss was lingering, if relatively chaste — it carried just a hint of teeth and the faintest prickling of Zolf’s beard against his cheek and chin, and at the end of it, Oscar was still smiling. Zolf made no move to untie him, not yet (though he’d have to soon, he’d promised Oscar some time in bed together, and a massage to make sure his new-found relaxation <em> stuck</em>), just kept his hand in place and muttered “y’can open your eyes now” into the space between them.</p><p>Oscar did, slowly, giving himself time to adjust to the relative gloom of the room. When he finally managed to focus properly on Zolf’s face — his startlingly white hair and sea-wrinkled skin and dancing green eyes —, it was with a realisation that glowed low and warm in his gut: Zolf might not have asked for his heart (yet), but he wouldn’t have to. He already held it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24789958">about trust [podfic]</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/KDHeart/pseuds/KD%20reads">KD reads (KDHeart)</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
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